


A Tent for Two

by thislifeinanutshell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, some quality bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thislifeinanutshell/pseuds/thislifeinanutshell
Summary: Emprise du Lion is a little too cold and Dorian a little too grumpy. Thankfully, Lavellan knows how to keep his favorite mage from freezing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I wrote down in one go after playing DA:I for the trillionth time and realizing, yet again, that I really hate Emprise du Lion.

Lavellan is not exactly sure why he wakes up. It might have been the wind outside rattling against the pots and pans at the fireplace or Iron Bull and Varric’s intense snoring, a steady stream of rumble coming from both of their tents. He can’t feel the toes on his left foot and as he wriggles them in his damp sleeping bag his whole foot feels like it’s being stabbed by a thousand needles. He shivers as he sits upright in his tent, elvhen eyes needing no time to adjust to the darkness. He feels a headache forming behind his temples somewhere and the thought of running around all day tomorrow searching for Red Templar encampments seems entirely too tedious.  
  
Shutting his eyes and falling back into his sleeping bag he tries to concentrate on the wind. The way it howls, shaking the tent and whirling the snow. Iron Bull coughs, moves around in his tent and proceeds to snore even louder. Lavellan sighs, runs his fingers through his hair and opens his tent. The wind is worse than he had imagined. Their tents are almost fully covered in white and a few pieces of Bull’s armor have been scattered around.  
  
Though the next thing Lavellan notices is that he is not the only one who can’t sleep. The figure is hunched over the fireplace, wrapped in what seems like a dozen blankets of different shapes and colors. If it hadn’t been for the faint Tevene cusses reaching his ear even through the wind, he would have grabbed his wand and thrown a spell.  
“Dorian”, Lavellan says, stepping out of his tent and walking towards the fireplace. The mage flinches, turns around, but relaxes as soon as he sees the Inquisitor. He turns back to the fireplace and Lavellan can see a few sparks flying from Dorian’s hands towards the logs in front of him.  
  
“Kaffas”, he hisses, tries one more time, only to see the flames sizzling in the snow, unable to form a fire.  
  
“A little frustrated?”, Lavellan asks, teasing, even though he knows Dorian is probably not in the right mood. He sits down next to his companion, looking at the burnt down fireplace.  
  
“How anyone is able to sleep in this sad excuse of a camp is beyond me”, Dorian says, side-eying the tents grumpily. He rubs his hands together, emitting a few more tiny sparks.  
“You should wear your gloves”, Lavellan says, looking down onto his own hands, clad in ram-leather.  
  
“I don’t own any”, Dorian huffs, as if the sheer idea of even considering such a purchase was worse than the Blight itself.  
  
“I told you to buy some in Redcliffe a few weeks ago.” Lavellan stays persistent, almost beginning to shiver himself just looking at the mage’s bare hands.  
  
“Did you actually take a closer look at those designs? I don’t think so! I’m surprised yours haven’t fallen apart yet.”  
  
Lavellan sighs. He gets up and walks towards his backpack, by now buried under a small pile of snow next to the entrance to his tent. “I should have some flint stones lying around here somewhere, if your magic is insufficient.”  
  
“My magic? Insufficient? Inquisitor, you hurt me deeply”, Dorian exclaims, but proceeds to cough as a wave of snow blown in by a wind gust hits the camp.  
  
Lavellan can’t help but smile at the sight. Sure, Dorian is a man who loves being the center of attention and is way too full of himself most of the time, but – and Lavellan would never admit this in public – he could also be pretty adorable. Sitting there, engulfed in all the blankets the camp had to offer and sulking over his failing fire magic; it was all a little too much for Lavellan’s heart. Malicious tongues would suggest that the infamous Inquisitor actually had a crush on the mage from Tevinter, but he had so far avoided talking about the matter with anyone in his inner circle. Yes, Dorian and he had flirted every so often, but Dorian was Dorian after all, the man would probably flirt with a Rage Demon if it would benefit him in some way.  
  
“Why aren’t you in your tent? Can’t sleep?”, Lavellan asks, trying to stir the conversation in another direction.  
Dorian sighs and there is a beat of silence before he says: “My tent has a hole in it.”  
  
There is a chuckle forming in the back of Lavellan’s throat but he keeps it at bay. “You literally helped me fixing a giant hole in the sky but you can’t fix a hole in your tent?”  
  
“There is a big difference”, Dorian says, raising an eyebrow. “If you want the magic to set the whole tent ablaze in a giant intermezzo of fire and electricity, reducing it to a mere pile of ashes and dust: I’m your man. I’m not as convincing with a thread and needle.”  
  
Lavellan smiles. “Fair enough.”  
  
He looks up to the grey night sky, not a star in sight, to avoid the mages eyes. He doesn’t want an uncomfortable silence to settle over the two of them but it comes anyway, resting on his shoulders, weighing him down. “You could always cozy up to Varric. I bet his chest hair would keep you warm”, Lavellan says, trying to soften the silence with an easy joke. Dorian merely groans, shifting a pile of snow from one feet to the other.  
  
“Or you could sleep in my tent”, the Inquisitor adds. The words are out before he knows it. He hopes the wind will carry them far away, to a place no one will ever hear them, but Dorian’s head moving in his directions suggest otherwise.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mean, before you freeze to death”, Lavellan says hastily, forcing a smile.  
  
Dorian nods, forehead beginning to furrow. “I mean, it would be horrible if your only decent mage would perish in a snowstorm, right?”  
  
“Ignoring the fact that the Inquisition has many decent mages, including myself, yes.”  
  
“Alright, I’ll get my stuff”, Dorian says, getting up from the fireplace and staggering to his tent, limps seemingly stiff from the cold.  
  
“You have more blankets in there?”  
  
Dorian smirks. “Of course.”

Lavellan is already back in his tent and wrapped in his sleeping bag as Dorian enters, carrying at least five more blankets and something that looks like actual great bear hide. The tent is not really made for more than one person and Lavellan scoots towards the wall, trying to leave as much space for his companion as possible. Even though he wouldn’t mind being close to Dorian, he doesn’t want to appear too needy or eager. Dorian takes a while to settle in, sighing as he wraps blanket after blanket around him while still silently cursing Emprise du Lion and the whole Inquisition under his breath. Lavellan closes his eyes, focusing only on the wind and the faint snoring still coming from Bull and Varric.  
  
“Anyways, thanks for letting me stay here”, Dorian says. His voice is very close, so close Lavellan can feel his breath on his cheek. It somehow is a very comforting feeling.  
“No problem. It’s the least I could do to keep our only decent mage warm.”  
  
“Precisely”, Dorian says and Lavellan can almost see the smug smile through his closed eyes.  
  
They turn silent after this. Dorian’s breath becomes slow and steady and Lavellan can feel his own eyelids growing heavy with the deeds of the day.  
When he wakes up the next morning, feeling surprisingly rested, Dorian is already gone. He hears laughter roaring through the camp and suspects it's Varric and Iron Bull making fun of Dorian's blanket fort. There is also the faint memory of someone wrapping their arms around him in his sleep but he is uncertain whether it was a mere dream or reality. Something he wants but will never have. What he does know, however, is that he will make sure nobody is going to fix that hole in Dorian’s tent.


End file.
